Viva La Resistance?
by ally-kat312
Summary: Though you die, La Resistance lives on!.. right? Gregstophe


(A/N: Pre-story apology for my bad French/French accent attempts. Gregstophe one-shot. Some ideas based off the original Red Dawn movie. Enjoy.)

Gregory crawled under the bush, dragging his partner with him. They had been ambushed, and as usual, Le Mole had taken the brunt of the blast. But this time… this time it might not be so fixable. Gregory had to try though. He lay his friend down as he quickly unslung his pack, searching through it. The first-aid kit, where was the bloody first-aid kit?! A partially gloved hand reached up and gently touched Gregory's. He hadn't noticed until then how much they were shaking.

"Ah. I, 'ow do you say eet, appreciate your concern, but…" Le Mole let out a dark chuckle, along with some blood. "Eet is better to not waste supplies on a 'opeless cause, non?"

"… non," Gregory said, his voice heavy with sadness. "But I need to try Christophe! I don't care if you think it won't work, it might work so-"

"Gregory." The Frenchman silenced his British partner with just his name. "Please. Do not atteempt to feex me. Not'ing can 'elp now. Can you shoot me?" A definite shake of refusal upset his golden locks. "T'ought so. Just… lie next to me for a leetle while." Gregory was reluctant to stop his frantic search for the medical supplies, but knew his friend was right. He could at the very least fulfill his last requests. Gregory lay beside him, his face buried in his chest. Both boys were oblivious to the gun shots and cries of men searching for them. Gregory felt heated tears steadily stream down his cheeks as he shook and gripped Le Mole's dark stained shirt tightly. He heard the other boys murmur comforting words in his native language as he stroked his blonde hair.

"Eet won't be so bad, dying again," Le Mole whispered after a while. "At least eet won't be guard dogs thees time. I fuckeeng 'ate guard dogs."

"I know," Gregory said silently. He knew everything about him. His strange warning signals, his hatred for God, his ability to tunnel, his sheer bravery… his strength and independence.

"Of course you do," Le Mole replied. He ran his hands through Gregory's hair again. It was softer. His amazing strength was beginning to fail. Gregory could tell, and a fresh wave of tears shook his body.

"Chr-Christophe… you can't possibly be dying… we still have a mission to finish…" Gregory whispered, barely able to muster a smile at his own joke. Le Mole was able to weakly laugh at it though.

"Oui, eet is rediculous," he agreed. "But, zough I die… La Résistance… it lives on, oui?"

"Oui," Gregory answered weakly. "I think."

"Don't t'ink you stupeed Brit. You s'ould know for sure," Le Mole said. He focused a large amount of his remaining strength on propping himself up slightly. "Ze grenade… you 'aven't used eet, non?"

"Not yet," Gregory replied, then realized the weight of his words. "No, Christophe, you can't mean-"

"Geeve eet to me," Le Mole said, not even bothering to let Gregory finish his sentence. Gregory was too upset to argue. It was his final wishes. His hands still shaking, Gregory took the grenade out of the pack and handed it to Le Mole. He refused to let go on the small metal object at first, but with some coaxing he loosened his grip. Le Mole collapsed to the ground, then pulled the pin with his teeth, and placed the bomb beneath his back.

"Zey won't use me for w'atever zey are planning," he muttered. "And I'll keel any zat try to move me away…" He reached over and found Gregory's hand. His white gloves must've been torn by now, and he was dirtying them with his fingerless leather ones. If he hadn't been about to die, the Brit would've gotten very pissed at him. However, instead, Gregory squeezed his hand tightly.

"Don't go Christophe," he pleaded uselessly. Le Mole laughed for a final time.

"Je a'taime Gregory," he said, raising their hands to their faces.

"Je a'taime mon ami," Gregory replied, intertwining their fingers. Le Mole made the slightest shake of his head.

"Non… je a'taime… mon amour." Le Mole slowly brought the gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, before closing his eyes and letting out a final breath. Gregory felt the pressure on his hand go slack, a sure sign that Death had claimed his only friend for good this time. He leaned over and kissed the dirty boy's lips softly.

"Oui, mon cheur. Je a'taime." Gregory lay next to Le Mole, taking in the air. It smelled like gunpowder and the cigarette smoke that was deeply implanted into the Frenchman's clothes. Personally, Gregory was fine. He had a small wound from where a bullet had barely grazed him, but other than that, he could've gotten up and walked off. Completed the mission. But… he was so tired. His face was wet with tears and a little bit of Le Mole's blood. He closed his eyes. He promised his friend that he would lie next to him. And he would. Until the scout teams later found them, and adjusted the bodies and he went out in a glorious blast of a grenade, his last feeling being his hand still holding tightly to the limp hand of the boy he loved.

Though they died, La Résistance lived on.


End file.
